


The Wingman

by adaycertain



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaycertain/pseuds/adaycertain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That tux. If Mike was honest, and in fact he was, it started with that tux. Specifically, with Harvey reaching over, slapping his hand away and fixing his bowtie. That’s when Mike saw the firestorm inside Harvey. And that’s when he realized there was no force on Earth or Heaven that will keep him away from that man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wingman

**Author's Note:**

> The events took place after 2.06 (All in) and before 2.07 (Sucker Punch). More of a commentfic for 2.06.

**Mike Ross**

Mike was a guy’s guy. He prefers his T-shirts than those prissy whites. He eats his burgers with his hands. He never minded the belch of the guy across the stadium. He chugs on beers while watching basketball and he can throw a mean punch, or two or three. He can burp all the provisions of the Uniform Commercial Code, right down to the last semicolon. He likes women’s legs. He’s slept with an impressive number of women. He has no problems jacking off to straight porn. He never bothered about his body hair, his facial hair, or his nails. Not once in those long years of friendship with Trevor did he question his preference.

 _So why, in heaven’s name, is this happening to him_ , he thought as he watched the light flickering on the numbers of the elevator up the office of Pearson Hardman. He couldn’t entirely blame last night. This was in the works. This was like threatening storm clouds. But still, when it happened, Mike was completely unprepared. It didn’t help that he had to come to the office the morning after to give a convincing performance that nothing was wrong.

He shook both his head and those thoughts away, clapped his cheeks and willed himself to stay centered. Last night they won back the company for Keith Hoyt in a file room Poker game.

 _Focus, Mike_ , he told himself. It’s not as if anything happened. 

His cheeks were red from the self-slapping, and his mind too distracted from his self-scolding when he almost ran straight smack into Louis.

 _“Whoa, there, Superclutz!”_ Louis bellowed. _“If you want to look like an idiot, try not to do it in front of me.”_

 _“Sorry, man,”_ Mike said as he clapped Louis on the back. The clapping on the back part, that’s a good move. He’s totally a guy’s guy. 

 

**Harvey Spector**

That night when he impulsively told Ray to pick him up with a tux, there really was no tuxedo situation. He did receive an email from Keith Hoyt’s corporate secretary about Keith’s speech in Atlantic City and he did plan on calling Keith. But it was a clear night, he needed to “blow off some steam,” as Mike called it, and Atlantic City was a short enough drive. 

But if Harvey was honest, and most times he was, he just wanted a compelling and believable enough reason for him to pound on Mike’s door and drag him out for the night. 

Harvey hated being in trouble. Hated the very face of Travis Tanner because every sneer, every drawn out word from Tanner’s mouth was a reminder that Harvey was in trouble. So what was wrong with a night out with his associate? The extra tux? That was Harvey avoiding trouble.

He had a fairly good idea that Mike didn’t own a tux. Had a fairly good idea that Mike, for all his memory and brainpower, didn’t have the dexterity to make a decent-looking bow. Had a fairly good idea that when he banged on Mike’s door at 11:23 in the evening, the kid would be awake with a beer (he was right), watching some sappy American sitcom (he was right), with barely nothing on (he was wrong).

Still, on their way to Atlantic City, Harvey was strangely chipper and a tad hopeful. With all the shit coming his way, the ride to Atlantic City promised an evening of high. He wasn’t even thinking when he reached over, tapped Mike’s hand, and straightened out the younger man’s bowtie. Harvey thought, _Yes, this was going to be a good night._

But by the time he saw his client with a ridiculous table of chips, Harvey’s displeasure showed. Of course Harvey was in Atlantic City supposedly to babysit his compulsive-gambling-and-all-around-idiot client, but he hadn’t really planned his entire evening to stay that way. You see, this was his original plan: threaten the Floor Manager with a suit for allowing Keith Hoyt within 10 meters from any room with a deck of cards, effectively preventing a potential headache, and simultaneously creating a golden opportunity for Mike-time.

He was wrong. Again.

But he was Harvey Spector. And life is one giant game of Poker. So Harvey kept on a straight face, sneered a little so the opponent will think he’s got a winning hand, and did what he do best: he played. He knew Mike looked forward to prowling the casino tables that night, and Harvey smiled a little at the thought. That would have to wait. For now, Mike would have to babysit while Harvey sought out this leprechaun-looking man-child Tommy who used a napkin to ruin Harvey’s evening. This way, Mike can be kept away from the gambling and the women. Brilliant, Harvey is.

 

**Mike Ross**

Mike disliked Harvey’s new assistant. Disliked his name _(Cameron? Really?)_ , his blond hair, his blue eyes, his filing system, his naïve attempts at pleasing Harvey. But then Mike realized the new assistant was taking a shot at what Mike himself should be doing, and all hell be damned if some Mike-lookalike could make Harvey feel better.

 _With Donna gone, he was all that Harvey got._ Mike slapped himself silly every time he dared think it. Yet it was the truth. On some level, he was careful. Mike knew Harvey took losing Donna as a blow – both professionally and personally. He knew it the moment Harvey looked at him after Donna stepped in the elevator; knew it the moment Harvey banged on his apartment door dragging him to Atlantic City; knew it most specially when Harvey challenged leprechaun-man to an impromptu Poker match.

Mike was no Donna, but he has started _“seeing”_ Harvey. Mike could tell, in that limpid way that one sees clearer after a storm, what Harvey was feeling. Harvey was vulnerable. But Harvey being Harvey will never show it, let alone admit it. So Mike didn’t push the issue.

Instead Mike spent every waking moment that week _with_ Harvey, _for_ Harvey, _near_ Harvey. So when Harvey dragged him to a ride to Atlantic City, he felt like a kid being taken to a candy store. Even better, he was wearing a tux.

That tux. If Mike was honest, and in fact he was, it started with that tux. Specifically, with Harvey reaching over, slapping his hand away and fixing his bowtie. That’s when Mike saw the firestorm inside Harvey. And that’s when he realized there was no force on Earth or heaven that will keep him away from that man. 

So Mike plucked _yaw drives_ from photocopiers, he spent an entire night counting Keith’s drinks, he ignored an urge to make fun of Cameron’s hair. He even made sure that there was a hotdog truck in that corner of the building the moment he learned Harvey’s favorite hotdog cart moved three streets down. 

He barely had time for talking to Rachel. _What is it she was working on? A case with Louis?_ No harm passing by Rachel’s room. It was like dropping by a friend’s place. When he saw Louis’ Dictaphone, it was like he stumbled into a goldmine. 

Mike’s first thought? Harvey. Harvey would love hearing about Louis’ attempts at the English accent. They’d laugh over it for ages. But the realization that Louis recorded them dawned on him so strongly that it bewildered him, and his face must’ve showed when Harvey pushed Rachel’s door open to call him.

 

**Harvey Spector**

Possession is 9/10 of the law, and Harvey was losing fast. He lost Donna, Hardman is back, and now he was watching his client lose his company. There wasn’t all that plenty that he can call his own. So when he saw Mike flirting – _talking, really_ \- with Rachel inside her office, Harvey was all but ready to lose even his composure.

He could have knocked on the glass wall. He could have just proceeded to the conference room where Tommy and his counsel were waiting. Instead he hastily opened the glass door like he had no time to spare (and to be fair, he really didn’t.) It took everything Harvey had to _not_ pound on that glass door and drag Mike away from Rachel. 

_“Come on, let’s go set off that bomb,”_ Harvey said, steely resolve in his voice.

Like in all instances when Harvey was mad, he was prone to brilliance and recklessness. He wasn’t planning on playing poker. He knew, at the back of his head, that it was reckless. He knew, without a shadow of doubt, that Jessica would kill him had she known. He knew that Mike will frown at his unexpected brazenness but will back his idea like he always does. So for the moment, he stacked all those knowledge aside and told Mike to deal.

Harvey wasn’t really chasing a high. That he won and got a flushing high was a side benefit. That he won for the first time in days was a side benefit. That he got to tell the story to Jessica that night with a snicker and a grin was a side benefit. The real benefit, the best part of it all, was that it had all been in front of Mike. Going in the game, he wasn’t all that prepared. _What if he was dealt a losing hand?_ But Mike was there, and hell he wasn’t losing in front of his associate. The kid looked up to him. And Harvey always worked better if he had someone to impress.

He wasn’t being reckless, no. He told himself he just lived for moments that came after winning the impossible scenarios. And last night, he hate to admit it, was an impossible scenario. 

Of course Jessica connected the dots, and her conclusion wasn’t all that far from the truth. In fact, if Harvey was honest, and sometimes he was, Jessica was right. He needed to get this gambling out of his system, this need to feel a sudden high. So he assured Jessica, _“I’m focused,”_ because that’s what he wanted to be.

 

**Mike Ross**

Last night, in a backroom poker game, Mike became sure of several things. One, that many things happen in that file room. Files are unearthed in that room. Late-night conversations between Harvey and him take place in that very room. Rachel visited him several times in there. Whatever it was, that file room was gold.

Second, that moment when Harvey was playing, there was no firestorm. There was fire, yes, and outside, a storm was brewing, but inside Harvey, there was the stone-cold resolve that Mike so admired. There was Harvey back in his full glory.

Third, Harvey was going to win. Whatever it was: the suit with Tanner, the poker game, whatever bullshit came their way. They were going to win. And Mike allowed himself to feel safe. 

In all his years with Trevor, through all the uncertain years in between college and now, through all those years with Grammy where money was scarce and life was tough, Mike had never allowed himself to feel safe. And yet here he was, completely, entirely, unreservedly, trusting Harvey. 

Of course Harvey won that night. No surprises there. Mike went home when Harvey told him to, with that brilliant specter smile that showed for the first time in days.

_“I have a date with Lady Boss, sport. Go home,”_ Harvey told him.

_“What? What about being your wingman? I can get my tux while you finish up.”_

_“Two things, rookie. First, that wasn’t your tux. That’s mine, and you have it on loan. Second, good work today. I’ll see your ass tomorrow,”_ Harvey said as he clapped Mike at the back.

Mike went home after that. He was sleep-deprived and running on Red Bull, but his every vein was pulsing and every nerve ending was firing. He didn’t want to go home. He wanted to stay and _not_ -think. He wanted to stay and feel safe and be scared. He could be a wingman, or whatever. He didn’t care. Just as long as he was with Harvey.

And there it was. 

 

**Harvey Spector**

Harvey wasn’t focused. He could barely think straight. Normally, he’s the one who could connect the dots, but this time Jessica had to do it for him. There was too many things going on, too many feelings. 

He needed to focus. That was imperative. People like Harvey Specter never lose it. People like him never second-guessed themselves, never chased highs, never gambled when the odds were doubtful. Harvey had been a lawyer for too long. 

If he was being honest, and this time he was trying hard to be, he wanted, just this once, to call Mike back and spend the last remaining minutes of the day with him. 

Harvey didn’t have grand ideas about eternal love and happily-ever-afters. He was never the type. For all his hand-gesturing about wanting to be _above_ life, Harvey respects lines and boundaries. He respects the law and his profession. Most of all, he respects this life that he has built for himself, which now includes a certain blue-eyed pretend-lawyer. Jessica may have reminded him that they are people, but they both knew that was a ruse. Jessica knows, _believes,_ with every fiber of their being, that they were lawyers, and nothing else. It is a life and a lifestyle. It is a decision already made long ago, even before Mike came into his life. It is who he is.

So that night, after he threatened Louis (because he is entitled to blow off some steam), after he has sent Mike home, after he talked to Jessica and looked her in the face with his _“I’m focused,”_ Harvey stared at his phone, at the pre-typed message which read _“Get your tux. We’re going out tonight”_ and pressed **_delete._**


End file.
